


First Christmas

by narcissablaxk



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, First Kiss, Kid Fic, M/M, Martin's First Christmas, gobblepot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Oswald realizes that he has no idea how to make Martin's first Christmas a memorable one, so he makes a deal with Jim Gordon: information on his latest case if Jim will help coach him through Christmas.





	1. Chapter 1

In Oswald’s 35 years, he never considered the possibility that one day, he would be a father. It wasn’t that he didn’t have any sort of paternal instinct, but the idea of having a family that went beyond himself and his mother never crossed his mind. There was something terminal about his existence in the world; he never tried to fight against it, but he was always meant to be the last of his line. He would have no son, no wife to carry a child for him. 

That was fine with him. 

He knew plenty of men and women with children who struggled, particularly when it came to the idea of legacy. The idea of creating a person, a living being who will survive you, carry your name, and have the power to change how people remember you is a big responsibility. Oswald was not necessarily a well-liked person; he knew that when he was gone, his legacy would be whispers in underground bars, hushed stories about the freak of Gotham. 

The fact that he wouldn’t have to burden a child with that knowledge was almost a comfort. 

And then Martin came into his life. 

The boy didn’t exactly come into his life the traditional way; he was pushed into it by two bullies much larger than himself. He was scrawny, small for his age, and he didn’t speak; but Oswald loved him. Here was a boy who would inadvertently carry on his legacy, a boy who was just as much a freak as Oswald was himself. 

And didn’t one freak deserve another? 

At least, Martin deserved to have a father in his life who understood what it was like to be different. In an orphanage with forty other children, all too wrapped up in their own issues to see his own, Martin deserved someone who saw him. That person was Oswald. 

Once that boy was in his life, the paternal instinct was all he could think about. He was dedicated to making sure Martin was going to a good school, seeing a good speech therapist, eating the best food, wearing the best clothes. Martin never wanted for anything, and never asked for anything. For a while, that was how Oswald thought he could be a good parent. Buy him things, spoil him. 

And then the holidays started, and Oswald remembered that most of his happiness was not because he had everything he wanted, but because his mother made every holiday special, even when they had nothing. With no presents, she still managed to instill in him the magic of Christmas, the joy of Santa Claus and a Christmas tree. 

Now that December was here, Oswald was paralyzed with anxiety. What if, for all of his money and gifts, he couldn’t make the day special for Martin the way his mother did for him? 

The day was December 13, and Oswald spent the morning sitting in his office, tapping his bottom lip with a pen, trying to figure out how to be the maestro behind the orchestral symphony that is Christmas. He had a list, short and shallow, of things like “Christmas tree, presents, dinner” with a question mark at the end. What else was there, really? 

He flipped the pen and pressed the nib into the paper just as someone knocked twice on the door, jarring him enough to scratch a messy line through the whole list. 

“Dammit,” he muttered, dropping the pen. “Come in,” he called, setting the pen down to cover the scratch. 

“Jim Gordon to see you, boss,” Victor popped his head in long enough to catch Oswald’s approving nod and backed out again, throwing the door open wide for Jim to pass through. The man in question stepped easily into the room, taking his usual seat on the opposite side of Oswald. 

“You look like you’ve had a busy morning,” Jim began, his usual gruff demeanor far more personable than Oswald was used to. 

“How do you –”

“You have an entire pot of coffee over there,” Jim tilted his head toward the tea trolley by the window, the pot of coffee already half empty. “You usually don’t drink coffee.” 

Oswald waved his hand at it. “Please, help yourself.” 

“Want me to make you one while I’m up?” Jim asked, standing up, gently pressing the crease out of his slacks on the way. 

“I want you to tell me if someone body snatched you and replaced you with a more well-adjusted James Gordon,” Oswald replied. “But if that has to come with coffee, that’s fine too.” 

“I have not been body snatched,” Jim began as he poured two cups of coffee. “I finally have a lead on Strange, and I was hoping you might be able to help me – are you okay?” 

Oswald tore his eyes away from the list and met Jim’s gaze. “I – yes, Jim, I am fine. I am…I’m –” he glanced back down at the list and back up at Jim. “Do you…what do you know about Christmas?” 

Jim furrowed his brows and hesitated, his cup of coffee momentarily forgotten. “As in…the lore behind Christmas? Or are you asking for a bible lesson?” 

“Like the holiday, James,” Oswald snapped, exasperated. 

“Oh,” Jim passed Oswald his own cup, the coffee lightened considerably with cream and sugar. “I mean, I celebrate it, if that’s what you mean.” He surveyed Oswald’s nervously clenched hands over the list. “Are you…deciding to celebrate?” 

Oswald groaned, exasperated. “Jim –”

“You’re not giving me a lot of information!” Jim replied, a laugh sneaking out in the exclamation. 

Victor poked his head in the door again, this time without a knock. “Uh, Boss? Martin would like to say goodbye before he goes to school.” 

Jim glanced back at Victor, amusement still on his face. “Martin?” 

“Send him in,” Oswald said, standing up from his place to meet the boy as he barreled in. “Martin, my boy! Off to school?” he asked, signing as he spoke. Martin signed back, quickly and excitedly, and Oswald smiled, pulling him into a hug, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “Make sure to thank Olga for your lunch before you go, okay?” 

The boy nodded and scampered away, sparing Jim a quick wave on his way out, his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack bouncing. Jim watched him go, coffee cup in hand, mouth agape. Oswald glanced at him on his way back to his desk, noting the surprise with a silent smirk.

“That’s…that’s your –”

Oswald nodded, taking a sip of coffee. “That’s my son,” he agreed. 

“But –”

“Adopted,” he added. 

Jim, to his credit, took the information straight-faced. “When?” 

“About seven months ago,” Oswald answered. 

Jim looked down at his coffee, a soft smile coming over his face. “And that’s why you’re asking about Christmas,” he said, as if answering a question. “Because you want to make it special for him.” 

Oswald furrowed his brow. “You don’t sound terribly surprised.” 

“No offense, Oswald, but when it comes to people you love, you’ll pull out all of the stops,” Jim pointed out. “And if you’re not sure how to do that the right way, you will work yourself to the bone to figure it out.” 

“Listen to Jim Gordon, talking like he knows the big, bad Penguin,” Oswald mocked lightly, but he felt his ears grow warm just the same. 

“Well, we are old friends,” Jim shrugged. Oswald raised his eyebrows in agreement and took another sip of his coffee, sweet enough that he could almost forget he didn’t like coffee much.

“I’ll tell you what,” Oswald said, “I will help you figure out where to go next in your case with Strange if you coach me through Christmas.” 

“Seriously?” Jim asked incredulously. “Somehow I thought the price for your help would be steeper than that.” 

“Let’s not assume the price of Christmas coaching is low,” Oswald pointed out. “Meet me here this afternoon so we can get started. I need…a nap.” 

Jim nodded, getting to his feet, polishing off the coffee with a final gulp. “Okay, Christmas coaching goal number one: you need a Christmas tree.” 

“This afternoon,” Oswald insisted, patting Jim on the shoulder. Jim allowed him to push him out the door, catching Oswald’s gaze one more time before he was out of sight. His blue eyes were alight with excitement. 

***

“The first thing you need to know about picking a Christmas tree is that there’s novelty in having a real tree,” Jim was saying, “but it’s way easier to get a fake one. They have some with preset lights, and they don’t even leave needles all over your floor.” 

Oswald nodded, resisting the urge to write the advice down. He pulled out the notebook when Jim first arrived at the mansion, but Jim slapped it out of his hand, claiming that part of the beauty of Christmas was the festivities being “organic.” 

Whatever that meant. 

“Now, I know that money is not usually an issue –”

“I will spare no expense on Martin,” Oswald interrupted. “The bigger the tree, the better.” 

“Remember that you still have to decorate it,” Jim pointed out. “So maybe an eight foot tree is more than enough for your first Christmas as a dad.” 

“Okay,” Oswald acquiesced, drawing out the word. “Lead the way.” 

Jim slipped his arm into the crook of Oswald’s elbow, drawing him down another aisle. “They should be over here,” he explained at Oswald’s quizzical look. “Now, while we look, tell me about what you found. About Strange.” 

“Hugo Strange went underground after the whole…business with the Court of Owls,” Oswald said, his eyes on trees. “He tried to get a new passport so he could get out of the country, but the Court of Owls has an extended reach of influence.” 

“And so do you,” Jim added knowingly. 

“I’ll admit I told my men to have nothing to do with Strange, but there are more lowlifes in this city than just mine, James,” Oswald replied. “Nontheless, I have a couple of people looking into his last couple of known locations. As soon as I have a solid lead, I will pass it along to you.” 

He paused, staring up at a tree, its lights flashing festively. “I like that one,” he declared. 

Jim pulled his eyes away from Oswald’s profile to inspect the tree. “I think that’s a good choice,” he agreed. “I will find someone to deliver it, and tomorrow, we move on to lesson number two: ornaments.” 

He released Oswald’s arm and practically bounded off into the aisles of the hardware store, leaving Oswald standing alone. 

***

Oswald was awake and dressed when Victor admitted Jim into the foyer the next morning, his blond hair covered by a navy blue beanie, his jacket buttoned all the way up to his chin. There were snowflakes on his shoulders; his nose was bright pink. He surveyed Oswald, in his usual suit and overcoat, and shook his head. 

“You do not want to go out there right now,” he advised. “We’re supposed to have another five inches before noon.” 

“No!” Oswald exclaimed. “We have to get ornaments! We have a very tight schedule to keep before Christmas.” 

Jim watched him fume, all but stomping his feet in anger, with a smile on his face. Oswald paused in his tirade to glare at him. 

“What are you smiling about?” he snapped. 

“It’s just nice to see your ire focused on something other than me,” Jim shrugged, pulling the beanie off his head and unbuttoning his jacket. “Besides, I have a plan.” 

Jim’s plan, it turned out, was Amazon same-day shipping. 

“Doesn’t this take all of the fun out of it?” Oswald asked, resting his chin on his hand, scrolling through the selection of Christmas ornaments. “Isn’t the whole…tradition borne in going out?” 

“Sometimes, Oz, you just have to improvise,” Jim said. “Besides, if I let you go out in that ice and you fall, I would never forgive myself.” 

“I just,” Oswald pulled away from the laptop, leaning back in his chair. “I want to do this right for Martin.” 

Jim smiled, his eyes still on the sets of ornaments on the computer. “What will make this Christmas perfect for Martin isn’t going to be the perfectly chosen ornaments or the lights that flicker from a remote. It’ll be that he decorated that tree with you.” 

“I don’t know,” Oswald fretted, closing the laptop. “Maybe we should still try to go out. If it’s too cold, we’ll just come back.” 

“Oswald,” Jim protested as Victor nudged the door open with his foot. 

“Boss, Olga asked me to bring you this tea and your painkillers for your leg,” Victor set the tray down on the table, giving Jim a single nod before slipping back out the door. Oswald sheepishly picked up the tea cup and the bottle of pills, avoiding Jim’s eye. 

“Why didn’t you tell me your leg was hurting?” Jim asked as Oswald let a pill tumble into his hand. 

“Because it wasn’t that big of a deal,” Oswald insisted, tossing the pill into his mouth and taking a tentative sip of tea. “I can handle it.” 

“Oz, if you want to be able to stand when your ornaments even get here, you need to stay off your feet today,” Jim argued. “We are not going out into that blizzard.” 

“Jim –”

“Nope,” Jim shook his head. “I am going to take your laptop and your tea, and I’m going to take it to your bedroom. You are going to rest your leg there and do your shopping online. No arguments.” 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Oswald snapped as Jim slipped out the door. He scrabbled for his cane, using it to pull himself upright, leaning heavier on the cane than he was used to. “James!” 

“Look, part of being the person who coordinates Christmas is understanding that sometimes you have to improvise a little,” Jim trotted back down the stairs, offering Oswald his hand, helping him up the first step. “Things rarely go to plan –”

“They do for me.” 

Jim laughed. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but me helping you up to your bedroom was definitely not part of your plan, unless you are far more devious than I originally anticipated.” 

Oswald flushed, ducking his chin to hide it from Jim. “That’s not – I meant –”

“I know,” Jim said. “You’re trying to be difficult.” 

Oswald’s bedroom was one of the easiest rooms to access from the staircase, so Oswald was able to shake Jim’s hand off long enough to steady himself; still, he felt the ghost of Jim’s fingers pressing into his forearm, his eyes on his back. 

“I’m going to get you another pillow to put under your leg,” Jim said, darting out of the room and down the hallway. Oswald sat on the edge of his bed, the laptop and tea set on his bedside table. In all of his fantasies of having Jim in his bedroom, Oswald never imagined it would be with a laptop and Christmas ornaments. 

Jim returned, a fluffy pillow under his arm. He came to Oswald’s bedside, his eyes motioning for Oswald to lift his leg. Oswald rolled his eyes but obliged, keeping his eyes on Jim’s stoic profile as he carefully slid the pillow under Oswald’s calf and knee. He gently pressed his hand to Oswald’s knee, feather light, watching as Oswald lowered it onto the pillow.

“I feel bad,” Oswald admitted. 

“I know, that’s why we’re staying in today,” Jim replied with a soothing smile. 

“No, I mean that I offered you information,” Oswald said. “I – if I stay in all day –”

“I’ll stay with you,” Jim offered. “I can help you pick ornaments.” 

“You don’t have to,” Oswald said hurriedly. 

Jim shrugged one shoulder and perched himself at the edge of Oswald’s bed. “Well, who is going to make sure you don’t pick clashing ornaments if not me?” 

***

The days before Christmas passed faster than Oswald could process. In less than a day, he had a Christmas tree in his living room, and he and Martin were hanging up ornaments, Jim watching from the chair by the fire, just in case Oswald’s leg started bothering him again. A couple of days later, he went outside to find Jim perched perilously on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights to the roof of the mansion. 

“What are you doing?” he’d shrieked when Jim released a string of lights that swung toward him, untethered. “I have people for that!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Jim lamented from his station atop the ladder. “Go back inside, I’ll call you when I’m done.” 

Oswald, after much posturing, finally obliged and watched the chaos from the comfort of the window, waiting for Martin to come home from school. His Christmas show was supposed to be the next day, but Martin had been trying to convince Oswald to let him stay home and skip it. Most of the show was going to be singing, and as Martin still didn’t speak, he was feeling left out. 

It broke Oswald’s heart to see him so down while everyone else was excited, but he and Jim spent the day spitballing ideas about how to allow Martin to participate without having to sing. Finally, after many calls to the school, they worked out a way. 

Jim was the first to spot Martin coming down the street, holding tightly to Victor’s hand to avoid slipping on the ice. “Hey buddy!” he called from the ladder. “Your dad has some good news for you inside!” 

Martin beamed up at him, the man who helped bring about his first Christmas, and met Oswald in the living room with so many signs so quickly that Oswald couldn’t begin to decipher them. 

“I know that you were worried about the Christmas show tomorrow, but I spoke to your teacher and she said that you can be the little drummer boy,” Oswald explained. “You get to wear the little drum, just like the song, and you can just keep time.” 

Martin grinned, miming his hands smacking a drum. 

“Well, you’ll have drumsticks, but pretty much just like that,” Oswald laughed, catching the boy in a hug. “I’m glad you like it, my boy,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re going to make me proud.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, darling!

In the wake of his good news, Oswald practically floated onto the front stoop to observe Jim’s light hanging abilities. The man in question was already finished and hauling the ladder back to the shed, where it belonged, but the lights were on, multicolored and elaborate. The edge of the roof was covered in small, bright lightbulbs, the hedges were covered in nets that had lights attached to them (when had Jim even gotten those?), and the trees were wrapped tightly with the same lights. From the driveway, the house looked like a frosty gingerbread house, and Oswald, for a moment, didn’t even recognize his own home. 

As he had for the past couple of days, Oswald’s distrusting mind brought him back to the same question: why was Jim doing this? Surely it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, because goodness runs out fairly quickly when one is standing on a frozen ladder precariously hanging lights. 

And Jim had spent an awful lot of time with Oswald recently, hadn’t he? He painted it as a quid pro quo agreement, Christmas coaching for information, but when was the last time Oswald provided any information about Strange? Oswald stared up at his house, clearly a product of hours of hard work. This agreement was very obviously lopsided, but it didn’t seem like Jim took issue with that. In fact, he seemed pleased. 

It just didn’t make sense. 

“You weren’t supposed to come out until I told you!” Jim protested, spotting Oswald on his trek back from the shed. “I wanted to see your face.” 

“My people found Strange,” Oswald blurted, his eyes watching Jim closely. He paused in his approach, concern flitting over his face before it was completely taken over by resignation. “I can give you his address. You don’t have to do this anymore.” 

Jim sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I know where Strange is,” he admitted, dropping his gaze to the icy sidewalk. “I sent the Strike Force to pick him up this afternoon, before I came by to put up the lights.” 

Oswald stared at him, flabbergasted. “You – you what?” 

“Look, Oswald, Christmas is…not an easy time for me,” Jim said. “My family doesn’t see each other; we don’t have any sort of traditions that lasted beyond my father’s death. But we used to have fun – when I was young. So when you said you wanted to make this Christmas good for Martin –”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Oswald asked in exasperation. 

“Would you have trusted that I just wanted to help?” Jim asked knowingly. “I promised myself I would wait to arrest Strange until after Christmas, but we got intel that he might rabbit, so I made the call.” He caught Oswald’s gaze with his own. “I know how you get when people lie to you, so I can go if you want.” 

Oswald raised his eyebrows in shock before he dissolved into disbelieving laughter. “You think that I’m going to be angry that you lied to me so you could help give my boy a good Christmas?” 

Jim hesitated, then shrugged. “Maybe.” 

Oswald took Jim’s hand. “Olga has dinner waiting,” he said softly. “Come inside and eat.”

***

After Oswald insisted Jim didn’t have to attend Martin’s Christmas concert, he half-expected him to stay away. He had given him a solemn nod, as if he was truly considering not coming. But an hour before the show, Victor admitted him into the foyer, dressed in his dark gray suit with a green and red plaid tie. 

It was horrendous, but it was festive, so Oswald let it slide. 

“I’ll be right back,” he told him. “I just have to go get my coat.” 

Oswald stood in his bedroom, his purple coat on, considering his reflection. Sure, he could be more festive, but purple was his color. He shrugged at himself. Christmas be damned, he was going to wear his purple coat. 

Carefully, he closed his door, gripping his cane a little tighter, trying to ignore the butterflies in his gut. Was he excited that Jim had actually come, or was he nervous for Martin? He couldn’t tell. He was prepared to dwell on the thought a little longer, but a voice wafting out of Martin’s room caught his attention instead. 

“You don’t have to be nervous,” the voice said, hushed and soft. 

There was a silence, and then Jim’s voice again. “Your dad is just excited to see you perform, I promise.” 

His curiosity piqued, Oswald quietly crept closer to Martin’s door, listening intently for any sound. 

“No one is going to make fun of you,” Jim’s voice was more tender than Oswald had ever heard it, sweet and almost sad. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” 

The long stretch of silence was excruciating, and Oswald almost pushed the door open to see what was going on, but just as his hand was extending toward the door, Jim’s voice interrupted him. 

“I’m glad that you don’t mind having me crashing your first real Christmas,” he paused, and Oswald pressed his ear closer to the crack in the door. “Truth be told, Martin, my last Christmas was years ago. My father died in a car accident, around Christmastime, and my mother never really wanted to celebrate after that. So we all did as we were told – we put the decorations away, we stopped playing the music, we didn’t buy gifts. We stopped even calling each other on Christmas. This is the first time in over ten years that I have wanted to celebrate Christmas. You brought that to me.” There was something different in his voice now, something wistful and almost melancholy that brought tears to Oswald’s eyes.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and knocked on the door. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on!” he called, his eyes catching Martin’s as he slipped past Oswald and down the stairs, and lingered on Jim’s, just slightly red at the edge. 

He gently slipped his hand into Jim’s on the way down the stairs, under the pretense of steadying his walk, and left their hands entwined all the way to the car. 

***

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Martin so happy,” Oswald said, his hand reaching for a jacket in exactly Martin’s size. “Thank you…for helping to encourage him to go through with it.” 

Jim, with his back to Oswald, went very still. 

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Oswald hurriedly added, “but I did and I’m very grateful for the kind things that you said. I want Martin to have a normal childhood, or what’s left of it, so –”

“I knew you were there,” Jim interrupted. He turned around, a matching hat for Martin’s jacket in his left hand. “I heard the floorboard creak.” 

Oswald flushed, holding out his hand for the hat. 

“I said what I said for Martin,” Jim said, “but I also knew that I wanted you to know those things too. It was…easier to say them to Martin than it would have been to say them to you.” 

“But –”

“You’ve endured so much loss, Oswald, I don’t ever feel like the things I’ve been through quite measure up in comparison,” Jim shrugged. 

Oswald felt his chest tighten in sympathy. He wasn’t a stranger to that kind of feeling – he felt it all of the time. He reached for Jim’s hand – an altogether easy movement that just kept getting easier – and squeezed. “I don’t want you to ever feel like your trauma is less than mine, or less important than mine.” 

Jim’s eyes dropped to the floor and for a moment, Oswald was worried that he overstepped, that perhaps he had been misreading all of the signals that Jim was sending, but then he was stepping into Oswald’s personal space, wrapping his arms around Oswald, his face tucked into the crook of Oswald’s neck, his breath just barely lingering on the skin of his throat. 

“Thank you,” he said, so softly Oswald might have imagined it. He cleared his throat, pulling away, squeezing Oswald’s hand one more time before letting go. 

“Okay, now go to another store,” he said, shooing him away. “I have to…get something.” 

“What does that mean?” Oswald asked as Jim continued the shooing motion with his hand. 

“That means you can’t look, so go get a cup of tea or something down the street, I’ll find you in ten minutes.” 

***

Oswald woke on Christmas Eve to the sound of Olga laughing. Bemused and a little concerned, he slipped his feet into his slippers and plodded downstairs, listening carefully. He could hear Olga talking, a little in Russian, and then more laughing. 

“Olga, what in the world –?”

Olga was at her usual station, standing at the island in the middle of the kitchen, and beside her, covered in a thin layer of flour, was Martin, a wide smile on his face. 

“Cookies,” Olga answered, as if that explained everything. 

***

Jim stared at the small pile of gifts in front of the couch with a critical eye. He hadn’t wrapped gifts in a long time (and he had never been much good at it in the first place), but he covered most of the little bald spots with bows and ribbons. 

If you squinted, you couldn’t really see anything was amiss. 

What bothered him more than his poor wrapping job was that most of those gifts were for Oswald. In the time following his father’s death, Jim hadn’t bought anyone Christmas gifts – when he was with Lee, he had also begged to get out of the obligation, claiming he didn’t celebrate, and he wouldn’t even remember how to celebrate anyway. But here he was, gleefully and easily buying gifts for Oswald, Martin, hell, even Olga, with little to no problem. 

He was, as he knew the moment Oswald took his hand, in way too deep with no escape plan. His whole scheme with Oswald and Christmas was supposed to soothe the ache of the holidays. He wasn’t supposed to get this attached, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be staring at a small mountain of presents that he never intended to buy. 

And he definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking obsessively about the little sprig of mistletoe he hung in the archway between the foyer and the sitting room in Oswald’s house. It had been a sudden decision, the choice to hang it up, but now that it was there, it was cemented in Jim’s mind, just like the plans his mind kept giving him, like trapping Oswald there by ‘accident,’ the two of them finding themselves underneath it completely organically, the way he would cup Oswald’s cheek when he leaned in. 

He groaned and restacked the presents, trying to figure out how to put them in a box for transportation. 

***

The outside lights were still on when Jim walked up to the front door, his hands laden down with gifts. The gloom outside made the lights seem even more welcoming, like a lighthouse after troublesome water. He smiled at them as Victor opened the front door before Jim could even knock. 

“Boss is in the kitchen,” he muttered, taking the gifts from Jim and tilting his head toward the room in question. 

Jim gave him a single knowing nod and went where he was told, listening carefully for noise. As he approached the door, he heard a peal of Oswald’s laughter, confident and truly happy. He smiled at just the sound. 

He pushed the door open, prepared to see Oswald sitting at the table, laughing at a joke Olga said, or eating lunch even, but what he saw was Oswald standing beside Martin at the island, both of them splattered with flour, hands dirty, Olga sitting at the table, a glass of wine in hand. 

“Jim,” Oswald said cheerfully. “We are trying to make cookies, and it turns out that Olga’s job is much harder than we give her credit for, isn’t that right, Martin?” 

Martin nodded brightly, and Jim thought, for a moment, that he could really see this every Christmas for the rest of his life. 

***

Christmas morning dawned silently, with another six inches of snow. Jim had to walk there, his nose running with the bright, invigorating cold, holding a bouquet of flowers that he bought the night before and kept overnight in a mason jar of water. 

It felt cliché, but who was he to deny an instinctual response? 

Victor admitted Jim before he made it up the steps, catching sight of the flowers with a smirk that made Jim blush. Victor, out of everyone in the house, could not be fooled. 

“Merry Christmas, Jimbo,” he said. 

“And to you.” 

Oswald was sitting in front of the fire when Jim walked in, holding his bouquet of lilies. He looked up when Jim walked in, the soft contemplation on his face morphing instantly into joy. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jim said quietly, lost in his beauty. 

“You didn’t have to get those,” Oswald replied, eyeing the flowers. 

“I figured you could use a reminder of your mother today,” Jim reasoned. “I remember you said lilies were her favorite.” 

“They are,” Oswald breathed, rising from his place. He met Jim at the entrance to the room, reaching out for the bouquet of flowers. Jim let him take the flowers, his hand fitting easily on top of his own, but didn’t let go. 

“Look up,” he whispered. 

Oswald’s gaze went up, settled, and back down as a blush crept up his neck to his ears. “When did you put that there?” he asked as Jim released the flowers to brush Oswald’s cheek gently with his thumb. 

“The day we ordered ornaments,” Jim admitted. “I didn’t know if I’d have an opportunity to use it.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Oswald chuckled softly.

Jim pulled him close and pressed a kiss to Oswald’s forehead, then each of his cheeks. “I suppose it is,” he said between kisses. Oswald closed his eyes, the soft presses of Jim’s lips intoxicating and sweet. “But I got you other gifts too.” 

He captured Oswald’s lips gently, reaching for the lilies to move them out from between them so he could pull Oswald as close as possible, the hand on Oswald’s cheek moving to the base of Oswald’s skull, catching some of his hair and gently running his fingers through it. 

“As far as gifts go,” Oswald whispered as he pulled away, “I don’t care about any of them. This is the best one.” 

“Best Christmas ever,” Jim agreed.


End file.
